Remembrance
by MsAdler583
Summary: When a person from Holmes's past comes to visit, he must force himself to be as human as he can manage.


-1 It was a dreary day. Watson was gone and I was left to my own devices which at the moment consisted of editing a monograph on envelopes or filing old case information. Both of which held no interest to me at the time. My violin was out of reach from my perch by the window. I simply could not induce my body to make any movement. The fleeting thought of my comfort drugs came to mind, but they too were not within my grasp. Thanks to Watson, they were locked safely in the writing desk drawer, as though I wasn't aware of where they were. It never ceased to amuse me that Watson tried to trick me at anything.

At last I resolved there was really nothing to be done besides slouch in the chair and watch the people pass below. Eventually something would happen somewhere. Or sleep would find me at last.

Something did happen, and it came in the form of a lovely young lady. Contrary to Watson's claims, I can recognize the female beauty when I see it. I simply do not allow such a distinction to interfere with my thoughts or observations. I saw her cross the street quickly, looking both ways for horses, but not for puddles. She splashed in two. She reached up to hold her hat, but not her skirt, allowing it also to soak at the bottom. Queer behavior indeed.

I was still slouched in the chair when she was shown in, waiting until the absolute last minute to rise and greet her.

"Elizabeth Astor," she said as she gave me her hand.

I motioned for her to sit across from my chair by the window.

"Thank you," she said.

"Now," I said in the most assuring voice I could, "Please state exactly the facts as they presented themselves."

I raised the tips of my fingers to touch my nose and closed my eyes.

"I believe you are mistaken, Mr. Holmes, I have no case."

My eyes shot open, "No case? May I ask what it is you are doing here?"

Though I would never admit such an idea to Watson, my mind immediately began racing on avenues of Moriarty. I tried to imagine such a small woman being sent as a spy, but the idea seemed ridiculous.

"Certainly. I wanted to meet you, Mr. Holmes. You probably don't remember me, but I lived down the lane from you when you were a child."

"Elizabeth Astor," I repeated, as though trying to recall a dream.

"Mycroft killed my kitten." she said flatly.

I tried not to recoil as I remembered the memory. Ah, yes.

"Have you come for a replacement kitten? I am afraid I have none."

She laughed and this surprised me.

"No, Mr. Holmes, I did not come for a kitten. I came to see if it was really you. I've read about you, the accounts and tales of the great detective. I wanted to see if you were the same one."

I nodded. Again though I would never admit to it, I was finally in a realm I knew nothing about. Human relationships. I fleeting wished Watson would come in and relieve me of any human duties.

"I believe it is the same me."

She laughed again.

"So it is."

I sat for a second, tapping my finger against the arm of my chair, cursing myself for wishing for something unusual to happen.

"How is Mycroft?" she asked finally.

I raised an eyebrow. Would it disturb her to know the man locked himself in his room only to come out to visit a club full of silent men? Though I fully recognized my own peculiar habits, I was aware that Mycroft's appeared that much more peculiar to the rest of the world.

"He stays in, mostly," I said delicately. "He has not married. He works for the government."

"That is impressive. You must be proud."

Pride. How interesting.

"Of course," I said. "And you had a sister, did you not?"

"She is gone," she said with a sad smile, "She married an American politician and they have since left England completely. I would like to see her more."

"I am sorry to hear that," I said as though asking a question.

Though I, no doubt, possessed the higher skills of deduction it would be foolish for her to have not seen how uncomfortable I was. Either she did not see it, or she chose to ignore it.

I could have made an excuse but she had seen me slouched in the chair when she came in and knew I had not been busy. If only Watson would return.

"Why are you so uncomfortable?" she asked.

"I do not know," I said honestly with a shake of my head.

She laughed.

"You were such a quiet boy. For a long time, I believed you could not speak. I just saw the way you watched everything. You always watched the expressions and actions of everyone, almost like you knew what they were doing and saying before they did."

She spoke with nostalgic calm, glancing up into my eyes.

"Forgive me if I seem too open with you, Mr. Holmes, but those gray eyes of yours have haunted me ever since."

My uncomfortable demeanor abandoned me and instead I felt the cold, emotionless shell pervade. She must have noticed because her posture straightened and her cheeks deepened a shade of pink.

She had deep green eyes and hair a shining tint of brown with a streaking of red. Her skin was like a clear pearl and her lips curled into a pink bow.

"I beg your pardon," she said, biting her lip, "I was too forward."

I shook my head, unsure of what to say, "There is no need to apologise."

The door closed below and I wondered if at last, Watson was coming. The heavy trump of boots on the steps confirmed my suspicion.

Elizabeth looked to the sounds and rose. "I have taken too much of your time, Mr. Holmes. I thank you for allowing an old maid like myself to remember old friends."

Watson cleared his throat at the door and removed his hat. Always the gentleman.

"Watson, this is Miss Elizabeth Astor."

"Dr. Watson, a pleasure to meet you. I was just leaving. Thank you, Holmes."

"Miss Astor," Watson said with a broad smile.

I stepped after her as she left and closed the door behind her after one last glance. She smiled before descending the stairs.

When the door closed, Watson turned to question me.

"She was certainly beautiful," he said.

"Was she?" I replied.

"What was that about, Holmes? New case?"

"No, Watson," I said moving to the window to watch her leave, "I couldn't help her."

Watson looked at me for a few minutes but knew there was nothing worth pursuing. He walked to his room to hang up his coat and I slowly slid down into my chair, looking out the window, watching the people pass by.


End file.
